


A Thousand Kisses

by moonfairy13



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fred Weasley Lives, Hogwarts Era, Pranks and Practical Jokes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:14:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22829269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonfairy13/pseuds/moonfairy13
Summary: Fred has noticed Hermione over the summer and now they're back at Hogwarts he's desperate to romance her. But the prankster's methods aren't really having the desired effect on his favourite prefect...
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Fred Weasley
Comments: 19
Kudos: 272





	A Thousand Kisses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fairylightinthenight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairylightinthenight/gifts).



> Alright then, here we go 😊 This fic is a gift for Fairylightinthenight, on the occasion of us having exchanged more than a thousand PMs 😲 and with thanks to Flower (dreamystranger) 🌼 
> 
> My remit was to write a Hogwarts-era (never tried that before), one-shot Fremione fic with some angst (also not my usual thing haha) and which includes reference to a thousand. This is AU, because I thought it might be nice to let them play in a sans Umbridge year 5/7, so no horcruxes and let’s pretend that Harry and Cedric defeated Voldemort at the end of the Tri-Wizard Tournament and then a big summer-long party was had by all. And then, after the summer holidays, everybody gathers on Platform 9 ¾ ready to go back to Hogwarts for a nice, normal school year…

“Are you getting on the bloody train, or are you going to moon over Granger until it leaves you behind on the platform? Because your broomstick’s not going to get you to Scotland by dinner time, and then you’ll be sorry!”

Fred Weasley turned to look at his twin. His pupils were dilated, and he had a slightly vacant look on his face.

“Go on,” George continued, nudging his brother towards the train. “She’s a prefect now, you know. She’ll be coming out after you if you keep us all waiting!”

Fred’s eyes lit up at that. “Oooh, do you think she would?”

“Dunno,” George said, deciding to march ahead anyway. If Fred really did get left behind, then so be it. It would be his own bloody silly fault for falling in lust with the feisty witch who had befriended their younger brother and, as a consequence, spent half the summer staying at their house in Devon. To George’s dismay, his twin seemed to have lost all sense of reason and had been behaving oddly for a couple of weeks now.

Urged on by his mother’s gesticulations from the other end of the platform, where she was chatting to a friend, Fred followed George onto the train and into a carriage. He was delighted to see that Angelina, Alicia and Lee had saved them seats. After hugs and handshakes had been exchanged all around, and chocolate and sweets had been pooled and shared out, the five began to exchange news about their summer.

“Fred’s in love,” George said after a few minutes, earning himself a poke in the side.

“Oi,” Fred said, “that’s secret twin knowledge!”

“Not for long it won’t be,” George said, cheerfully. He turned to the others. “He has decided to romance her,” he announced.

“Who?” Lee asked, looking around the carriage as if the answer would appear out of thin air.

“You’ll see,” said Fred. “I am. I’m going to romance her,” he confirmed, “and make her mine by Christmas.”

“Oh, Gods,” George said, dramatically holding the back of his hand to his forehead. Angelina laughed and the younger twin smiled at her. Shyly, but with enough conviction to make her heart skip and return his smile with a slight widening of her eyes. They had exchanged a kiss or two themselves during the last weeks of the previous term and he had spent all summer regretting not suggesting that they owl each other over the holidays. It was about time, George thought, that he plucked up the courage to ask her to Hogsmeade at the first opportunity, and then find a way of suggesting that they made it official.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

By the end of the welcoming feast, it had already become clear to a few people that Fred’s idea of romancing a witch didn’t exactly constitute the kind of attention that a witch like Hermione Granger was looking for. In a bid to get her to notice him, he had turned a bread roll into a carnation mid-way to her lips and then, just as she had finished her meal, turned the pumpkin juice that she was about to finish a rather sickly shade of pink.

“I was going for rose, Hermione,” he called across the table, as she put down the cup, said something to Harry and left the table. “I’ll get it right next time!”

“Please don’t!” she called back, wanting to unpack in peace and re-read the parchment from Professor McGonagall which outlined her prefect duties. To Fred’s dismay, she had retreated to her bedroom by the time he and George returned to the common room, and the staircase which led to the witches’ side of the tower was charmed so that wizards couldn’t climb it. With a sad look towards the door, he settled himself next to George and chatted with their friends.

By the next day, Fred was displaying his usual level of ebullience again and, thanks to his youngest brother, had become the proud owner of a copy of Hermione’s timetable.

“I don’t know why you want that.” Ron's comment prompted a wink from his brother.

“When you’re older, you’ll understand,” Fred had said, enigmatically. Ron simply wandered off, muttering to himself. 

Having studied the document against his own timetable, Fred had calculated the times in the day when he could most easily ‘bump into’ Hermione. And so it was that he was leaning against a suit of armour as she exited Professor Snape’s potions classroom mid-morning, chatting eagerly with Harry.

“Alright, you two,” Fred said, as he stepped away from his metallic comrade and fell into step with them.

“Hello, Fred,” Hermione said, barely looking at him, and his heart skipped a beat.

“You know who I am?” he asked her, almost breathless with excitement that the little witch could tell him apart from his identical twin. Or had it been a lucky guess?

“Of course I do,” she said, looking at him warily. “You two aren’t as alike as you like to think you are. Bye, Harry!” She waved to her dark-haired friend and the tall redhead.

“Wait! I’ll walk you to arithmancy!” Fred rushed to keep up with her as she turned a corner.

Hermione looked at Fred suspiciously. “Why?” she asked. “And how do you know I have arithmancy next?” She narrowed her eyes and then looked at his bag. “Do you have illegal products in there? Or are you trying to distract me while George sets up some prank?”

Fred tried to look innocent. “No,” he said, all big brown eyes and pouting lips. “I just like spending time with you. Can’t I like spending time with you?” 

Hermione didn’t know how to answer that. “I suppose,” she said, and continued walking. 

Hermione’s love of arithmancy meant that she didn’t take the time to ponder Fred’s actions further until that evening, when he managed to shove Seamus out of the way and sit beside her at dinner.

“Can I pass you anything, Hermione?” he asked.

“No, thank you,” she said, turning to Harry, who was on her other side. “Can I have a bit of chicken pie please?” she asked her friend, and he put a slice onto her plate.

“Why couldn’t I have done that for you?” Fred asked, and Hermione laughed.

“What, so I could have had purple hair as a result? No, thank you!” She smiled at him, making his heart jump about a bit, and began a conversation with Dean instead. Two places down, sitting together on the other side of the table, George and Angelina struggled not to laugh. 

“Not going quite as you had hoped?” his brother asked as the two of them and Lee readied themselves for bed that evening.

“Not quite,” said Fred, “but I’m going to get there.”

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

A week later, Fred was no closer to his goal. He had shown off his not insignificant transfiguration and charm skills, presented Hermione with flowers and even conjured a toy mouse for her degenerate cat. Fred found himself the recipient of a suspicious glare every time he got within ten feet of Crookshanks’ mistress. It was as if Hermione had given the cat the important role of protecting her from him, Fred thought sadly, and then realised that Hermione might have done exactly that. She laughed at his offer of sweets, saying that she wasn’t silly enough to eat anything he gave her, and she wouldn’t take his hand when climbing stairs, apparently for fear that he was holding something unpleasant in it.

Next, he tried to impress her during the first quidditch game of the season, by doing a couple of tricks on his broom and then sending a stream of red and gold confetti from his wand as he flew past the Gryffindor stand, directing it towards Hermione. “Give over, Weasley!” Angelina shouted from her broomstick, laughing at his antics as he reached the other side of the field and passed her. Hermione saw the older witch lean in as she flew alongside Fred for a moment. “You’re scaring her away,” she told him in a low voice, before shaking her head at him and making a turn in the opposite direction. Hermione watched the exchange from the stand and felt sad, although she had no idea why. She couldn’t tell from that distance what Angelina had said, but it surely couldn’t be good.

“I don’t know what I should try instead,” Fred sighed, sitting down hard on the sofa in between Angelina and George later that evening, forcing them to move apart and earning himself a scowl from each of them.

“What about just talking to her? Just try for a normal conversation,” Angelina suggested. “Look,” she nodded towards the common room door, “she’s off on prefect rounds, and not with Ron. Just be normal!” She emphasised the last word and then snuggled back into George’s chest as Fred vacated the space and skipped towards the door through which Hermione had recently departed.

“That’s the problem,” said George, as he leaned in to resume kissing Angelina. “He doesn’t know what normal is!”

By the time Fred reached the bottom of the tower, Hermione had disappeared. He made a decision as to which way he thought she had gone and turned right. Five minutes later, he reached the conclusion that he had been wrong. Doubling back and speeding up, for he was certain his long legs could catch Hermione’s, he walked faster and faster through the school corridors, wishing that he had thought to bring the Marauder’s Map. After another ten minutes, he began to come to terms with the idea that he wasn’t going to find her on this occasion. Sighing, he decided to go back to Gryffindor Tower and turned towards the corridor that would take him there. 

To Fred’s simultaneous delight and horror, he rounded the next corner to find Hermione standing in a guarded pose in front of Draco Malfoy and two of his Slytherin pals. It looked like they were teasing her and he bristled with anger.

“Hermione!” he called, jogging towards her and putting his arm around her shoulder. This time, it wasn’t just about his feelings towards her, but a deep desire to protect a fellow Gryffindor from the bullies. He hoped that Hermione would sense that and not pull away. She clearly sensed something, giving him a look of gratitude and a smile that made his heart soar. Until the blond wizard spoke.

“Slumming it?” Malfoy’s voice dripped with his usual level of contempt. “Shouldn’t expect anything different from a blood traitor, I suppose.” Fred turned, readying his fist to wipe the sneer off the blond wizard’s face, but Hermione reached out and caught his hand in her own.

“Please, Fred,” she said, under her breath. “Don’t…”

“Oh, please, Fred,” mocked Malfoy, adopting a high-pitched voice. “Please do what I say, Fred. I know all the answers, Fred.”

Fred didn’t hear the rest of his words. He was too surprised by the feeling of Hermione’s hand slipping into his. She gave his arm a little tug and he turned to her with a look of wonder on his face.

“Please walk me back to the common room?” she asked softly, wanting more than anything to prevent him getting the detention which would surely follow the punch that he clearly wanted to administer to Malfoy’s nose. Not that Hermione would blame him. She would rather like to apply another one of her own, but she knew that Fred definitely wouldn’t get away with it. He was two years older than Malfoy and Professor McGonagall would expect him to be able to take the high ground in this situation.

“Alright.” He turned, slipping his fingers in between hers and holding her hand more firmly as they walked slowly up the corridor together, ignoring the jeers that continued until Hermione cast a silencing spell behind them with her free hand.

“You know I hit him once?” she asked, wanting to get Fred onto a new subject and further reduce the likelihood of him earning a punishment that would almost certainly be doubled when Molly got to hear of it.

“Malfoy?” He stopped walking, sounding so astonished that Hermione laughed.

“Yes,” she said, smiling up at him before pulling his hand again. “I punched him on the nose.” She launched into the story, and made it last until they climbed the final set of stairs which took them to the Fat Lady.

“Did I tell you I love you?” he asked, as he stood back to let her through the portrait hole, and Hermione laughed. That, she knew, wasn’t very likely, but she was glad to have spent a half hour with Fred which hadn’t involved him showing off or embarrassing her.

In a stroke of awful luck on Fred’s part, Harry pounced on Hermione the moment she entered the common room. Before he could invite her to join him and continue their chat, she was dragged away into a conference about potions homework, and the moment was lost. Fred sat down heavily next to George and let out a sigh. His twin didn’t halt the conversation he was having with Lee, but he did pass Fred a toad-flavoured jellybean in a show of sympathy and solidarity.

“It’s her birthday next week.” Angelina spoke quietly into Fred’s ear as she passed behind him on her way across the room. 

“Really?” He sat bolt upright. Maybe this was his opportunity.

“Mmmm hmmm,” Angelina nodded. “We have a birthday calendar in the girls’ dorm. So that no-one’s birthday gets forgotten, especially the muggleborns, who might not know anyone else when they arrive. It’s the nineteenth,” she raised her eyebrows. “The day before the first Hogsmeade visit of the year…” She left Fred with that thought, simply looking over her shoulder and winking as she walked over to chat with Alicia.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Fred’s preparations for Hermione’s birthday gave the witch herself a few days of relative peace, for which she was immensely relieved. While she appreciated his intervention in the Malfoy incident, recognising that he had shown her the kindness that an older sibling would always display in the face of a common enemy, she had reached the conclusion that his other antics towards her also confirmed her status in his eyes as a family member. Someone to be teased a little, as he did with Ron, and not taken too seriously. 

Hermione supposed that she should be happy about that. She had no siblings of her own, and she loved spending time with the happy, boisterous Weasley family. But she couldn’t help but feel a little sad at the same time. She had always had a soft spot for Fred, sensing that his joviality masked a tender heart that was more easily bruised than he would have ever admitted to anyone other than George. 

And for a tiny moment there, she had allowed herself to believe that perhaps Fred might have seen her as more than another little sister. But, she sighed, as she climbed the stairs to the divination classroom, she needed to rein in her feelings. A gorgeous, clever, funny wizard like Fred Weasley was never going to see a witch like Hermione as more than a family friend.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Fridays were often the busiest day for owls, as doting parents sent their offspring letters containing pocket money for the next day’s visit to the local village. Throughout breakfast on Hermione’s birthday, the Great Hall had been awash with owls flying cards, gifts and other deliveries to the students and staff. Hermione had happily unwrapped the card and gift that her parents had sent; delighted at how they always made the effort to visit a magical café at the opposite end of town in order to send her treats by owl. She had gratefully accepted more cards and gifts from friends, and warily glanced at Fred from time to time. Other than smiling at her and wishing her a happy birthday when she opened the hand-made card from him and George, he had seemed more interested in talking with his twin, who in turn seemed more interested in watching Angelina chat to the other seventh-year girls. As she pushed away her plate and finished her cup of tea, she breathed a sigh of relief. Nothing had happened.

And nothing – at least as far as attention from Fred was concerned – continued to happen for most of the day. Nothing happened in double potions – apart from Lavender receiving a good deal of wrath from Professor Snape for being ‘louder than warranted’ – and nothing happened in transfiguration. Hermione walked to dinner with Ginny and Luna, looking forward to a pleasant evening in the company of her friends.

When she reached the hall, she was startled to see that the area above the Gryffindor dining table was full of balloons, flying streamers and small arrow-shaped objects which would periodically spiral down towards the table and scatter glitter over those below. The glitter would sparkle gloriously for about twenty seconds and then disappear in a chorus of tinkling sounds. It was rather clever magic, and Hermione was certain she knew who was behind it.

“What’s this for?” she asked, causing Ginny to look at her as if she had asked to be told her own name.

“Well you, silly. It’s your birthday isn’t it?” The younger witch led her to the very centre of the table and sat her down.

“Happy birthday, Hermione!” a few people called, and she smiled and said thank you, still a bit stunned at the amount of effort that her friends had gone to. Hermione very much enjoyed her birthday meal. There was even a cake and, while she ate a slice, she chatted happily to Ginny about what they were going to do on their Hogsmeade visit the next day.

But then it happened. She didn’t catch the look that Fred gave George, or the complicated wand movements that he made, but she certainly heard the result.

“Hermione Granger!” A disembodied but familiar voice called from the ceiling, making everyone in the Great Hall stop what they were doing. “On the occasion of your sixteenth birthday, I’m sending you a thousand birthday kisses!”

Before she could realise what was happening, or turn to see the happy grin on Fred’s face, an enormous number of small pink orbs began to descend from the ceiling and swirl around the Gryffindor table. Silence fell. A few people looked shocked, and then some began to talk or laugh in anticipation of what was going to happen. All eyes went to Hermione; a sensation which made her feel very uncomfortable indeed. She felt herself redden, and wanted the floor to open up and swallow her.

“Oh dear,” Professor Dumbledore whispered to those around him. “I fear Mister Weasley may have gone too far with this one…”

Hermione looked horrified as tens of the orbs began to head towards her. Frozen in her seat, and aware of unkind laughter now coming from the Slytherin table, her face became even more aghast as the orbs that were nearest to her began to magically form themselves into the shape of lips and then bounce off her skin, each applying one tiny kiss to her face, neck, shoulders and arms before exploding in a puff of pink glitter.

She closed her eyes and Ginny reached for her hand, squeezing it in solidarity. Hermione could vaguely hear the witch asking her brother what he thought he was doing, but she couldn’t hear Fred’s answer over the loud call from the Slytherin table.

“This is brilliant,” Malfoy shouted. “Twin One is taunting the mudblood. You should have seen the way she gazed up at him in the corridor. ‘Oh, Fred’,” he mocked. “Like he’d ever look at you, you ugly swot! Blood traitor he may be. Idiot he isn’t!”

That was it for Hermione. On another day, she might have stood and shouted at the twins. Or Malfoy. But she didn’t have the energy tonight. Instead, she stood up, maintaining as much dignity as possible, and walked from the room, her head held high. The orbs followed her; Fred’s grasp of advanced magic ensuring that every single one of them kissed her before she could be free of them. They ran out just yards before she arrived at the portrait of the Fat Lady and mumbled the password under her breath. 

Only when she reached the safety of her own bed did Hermione close the drapes and allow herself to crumple and cry. Big, fat tears. At the knowledge that Malfoy was right. That a wizard like Fred Weasley would probably never look at her in the way that wizards looked at witches like Lavender. That she was only good for being made fun of; the target of their pranks and jokes. She kept telling herself she didn’t want that. But when she thought that Fred had been paying attention to her in a way that made him seem interested, she realised that, actually, she craved it a little more than she cared to admit.

Not that it mattered. Clearly, he only sought to make fun. With her as the target.

A few minutes later, she heard whispering voices outside her bed. Lavender and Parvati, for sure, and someone else. It was only a moment or two before she found out who had joined them.

“It’s me, Angie. I come in peace. May I come in?”

“I suppose,” said Hermione, a bit ungraciously.

Angelina’s hand pushed through the drape and she clambered onto Hermione’s bed, offering a hug as she did so. She levitated a cup of tea towards Hermione.

“If it helps, he’s awfully sorry. Ginny’s giving him Molly-level grief about it and Dumbledore’s making him clear it all up,” Angelina said.

“It doesn’t,” Hermione replied. “Thanks for this though.” She sipped the tea, grateful for the comfort offered by the familiar taste.

Angelina nodded. “I thought you might say that.” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “Hermione,” she began, “I know this might seem like an unusual question, but how do you think Fred feels about you?”

Hermione looked up. “I think it’s quite obvious how he feels about me. He sees me as another little sister at best, and as a potential target for his jokes. I know you’re probably here to tell me he didn’t mean to upset me, but he’s been doing this to me for three weeks now, and I’ve had enough!”

“I would have too.” Angelina sounded sympathetic.

“Thank you,” Hermione mumbled quietly. 

“Except,” Angelina continued, “there’s something I know that you don’t, and I’m hoping you’ll hear me out. He doesn’t know I’m here, so when I’m done you can send me away if you like, and I promise he won’t even know we’ve talked.”

“I know what you’re going to say,” said Hermione. “You’re going to tell me that he’s well-meaning and wouldn’t have intended to hurt me. That he’s not unkind by nature; he just goes too far, especially when George isn’t there to put the brakes on. I know all that.” She paused for another mouthful of tea. “It doesn’t make it feel better.”

“That’s not it, actually,” Angelina said. “He likes you.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Hermione said. “He loves Ron, deep down, but he still treats him the same way.”

“No, really likes you,” Angelina stressed. “Really. Likes you.” She repeated herself a few times, keeping her eyes on Hermione’s until the younger witch had fully grasped what she was saying. “I’m not joking. I wouldn’t. I can see how much you’re hurting. Fred Weasley really cares about you, and this is his stupid, misguided, ridiculous way of trying to get your attention and show you that.”

Hermione’s heart leapt. Could that really be true? 

“How can I know that?”

Angelina smiled. “Now, I was hoping you’d ask me to prove it, because I can. He’s not stopped talking about you since term started. So I know, for instance, that you have a swimsuit in two different colours of blue. It’s a traditional style, which Fred really likes. He wished at first that it was a bikini but actually realised, after you had been at The Burrow for a few days, that he loves how classy and modest you are compared to other girls.” Angelina nodded her head at the drapes, indicating that she means girls like Lavender, and Hermione was a tad embarrassed to realise how much better that made her feel. “He also loves the fact that you wear a rainbow sarong over it – although he calls it a rainbow sheet – thus leaving something to his imagination.”

Hermione smiled a bit at that. “OK,” she conceded, “that’s all true enough.”

“Remember the Sunday that Charlie came home for lunch and you all sat up late around a campfire?”

“Yes.” Hermione definitely remembered that. That had been a good day. It had been the day when Fred had wormed his way into her heart, thus turning her into a woman who ran to her bed and cried when his teasing went too far and Draco mocked her, rather than standing up and telling him off. Well just this once, she would allow herself the indulgence of this reaction, but never again. Then, she realised that Angie was still speaking.

“He made George play wingman and engineered it so that they would sit either side of you on one of the garden sofas. Says you let him slip his arm around you and cuddle you as you all watched the fireworks. He apparently stayed awake half the night driving George nuts by telling him over and over how soft your hair and skin is. Malfoy’s totally wrong,” Angelina continued. “Fred’s crazy about you. He just has a piss-poor approach to trying to get you to notice him.”

Hermione took a deep breath. “Okay,” she said. “I believe you. I’m not sure what to do with what you’re telling me, though.”

“How do you mean?” Angelina asked.

“Well … he might well like me, but he’s entirely unsuitable,” Hermione said.

“Aren’t they both?!” Angelina said, with a dreamy look on her face.

Hermione frowned. 

“Look, I know he’s an idiot,” Angelina sighed. “And I know this is a cliché, but he really does want to be YOUR idiot.” She gave Hermione a few moments to take that in. “He’s truly a lovely bloke,” she assured the younger witch. “They’re going to do amazing things, you know. Him and Georgie. School holds them back far too much. They’re total diamonds in the rough, both of them. And, for what it’s worth,” she leaned in closer and lowered her voice, “if your idiot can kiss even half as well as my idiot, I’d recommend giving him a go…”

Hermione smiled at that, although she was also a bit shocked. This was a new experience; having a female friend to talk to in this way. She had never really connected with Lavender and Parvati, whose main interests seemed to be clothes, make-up and gossiping about others. But, she considered, maybe she could trust Angelina. She seemed very straightforward, like Ginny. Although she couldn’t imagine having this conversation with Fred’s sister. Which was perhaps, she considered, why it was Angelina who had come to her while Ginny stayed to deal with Fred.

“He is quite attractive, I suppose,” she confessed, unable to meet her new friend’s eyes. “And he’s usually very kind…” She was remembering the times that Fred had defended both herself and Harry.

“There you go.” Angelina spoke under her breath. “Now, if I can persuade him to calm it down, would you agree to be open to letting him romance you in a more … well … conventional way? I think the whole of the seventh year would be very grateful.”

Hermione looked up. “Why? What’s in it for you?” she asked, and then reached out to touch Angelina when she realised that she had spoken more sharply than she had intended. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly, “I didn’t mean to sound so … Slytherin.”

Both girls laughed.

“It’s a fair question,” smiled Angelina. “There are plenty of girls who would rather compete than collaborate. But there’s a simple answer.” She leaned in again. “George Weasley.”

Hermione’s mouth made an ‘o’ shape as Angelina winked.

“We’ve been together for a few weeks now, and,” she shrugged, pausing while she found the right words. “Let’s just say I’m craving more alone time in an armchair with Georgie, but they rather come as a package deal.” She raised her eyebrows. “So I’ve got a vested interest in helping Fred to be less of an idiot. If his arms are full of you, I might get more cuddling time with his other half…”

Try as she might, Hermione could not help but imagine herself in one of the overstuffed Gryffindor common room armchairs with Fred Weasley. He would probably be in her lap at least half of the time, she smiled, remembering how Fred liked to reverse the usual order of things. She shook her head, as if that would rid her of the image, and Angelina looked concerned that her request was going to be rejected, until the younger witch spoke again.

“Alright,” she said simply. “I’ll talk to him myself, though. I appreciate the offer of intervention, but if we can’t manage this between us, then there’s no point anyway…”

“Fantastic,” said Angelina. She looked at Hermione for a few seconds, considering her next words carefully. “I think you’d be good together. Kind of an opposites attract thing, except I don’t think you and Freddie are nearly as opposite as you think.”

“Really?” Hermione didn’t look convinced.

Angelina shook her head. “I know he’s all show and you’d rather go unnoticed. But, if you think about it, you’re both really clever, and creative about magic. Gods,” she laughed, “I bet the two of them would just love to sign you up to help with their prank products! They’re always agonising about how to solve this problem or offset that side effect.”

Hermione pulled a face. It did sound like that might lead to interesting conversation. And perhaps it would be a way of ensuring that others didn’t get hurt in the process of the twins’ product making.

“Well,” she said, “We’ll see.” Hermione wrinkled her nose. “I need to work out how I can talk to him alone, though. I don’t want an audience. But it’s not long til curfew, and I can’t be caught out, as a prefect.”

“Oh,” said Angelina. “That’s easy. I’m sure he’ll be back by now. I’ll just go and get my broom.”

Ten minutes later, Hermione was sitting on the edge of Fred’s bed while Angelina, who had flown her out of her own window and back in through one of those in the twins’ room, marched down the boys’ stairs to the common room.

“There’s something on your bed that you need to see,” she told Fred quietly. “Go quickly. No, not you, George. I need you here…” 

Fred jogged up the stairs, skidding to a halt when he saw Hermione sitting on his bed. But he paused only for a second before closing the door to give them some privacy.

“I’m so sorry,” he began, reaching the bed in just three long steps and sitting down beside her, taking her hands in his own. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I need to tell you something before I do anything else stupid; is that OK?”

Hermione nodded, and Fred took a deep breath.

“I really like you,” he said. “And I keep trying to show you that, but it keeps going wrong.” He put his head on her shoulder and then looked up at her from under his long dark-red eyelashes.

Hermione put her hand on his shoulder. “Angelina explained. I like you too, Fred,” she whispered. “And I might have been a bit more OK with the public stuff if I’d known how you really felt. But I was afraid that Malfoy was right; that you were just teasing me because I wasn’t like the other girls.”

“Never.” Fred’s voice was firm, and then he moved his body until he was facing her and looking into her eyes. “I like you because you’re not like the other girls.” He shrugged. “I’m not really like the other wizards, either.”

“No, I suppose you’re not.” A smile crossed Hermione’s face and Fred matched it with one of his own.

“Will you be my girlfriend?” he asked. “And come to Hogsmeade with me tomorrow?”

“I’d love to,” she said.

“Can I kiss you?” 

“Yes; I’d like that. As long as it’s you this time, and not one of those pink things. They’re quite scary, you kno-”

Her words were cut short as Fred touched her lips with his own. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close to his body and giving her a few more short kisses before keeping his mouth on hers and parting his lips slightly.

Hermione sighed into the kiss and followed his lead. Tentatively, she wove the fingers of one hand into his hair and, spurred on by the sigh that it elicited from Fred, stroked his head and neck. Fred deepened the kiss and Hermione felt her body respond. His hands moved to her waist and, at some point, by mutual agreement, they both lay back, heads on Fred’s pillow, alternately kissing and chatting until they heard the knock on the door which indicated that George or Lee wanted to come in.

“S’not locked,” Fred called, still stroking Hermione’s hair and rubbing his cheek on it. “They won’t say anything,” he assured her when he saw the uncertain look on her face. “I’m guessing Ange will have told them you’re here.”

“I certainly did.” Angelina was standing in the doorway, holding hands with George. Hermione was surprised to see her wearing her pyjamas, and Angelina smiled at her shocked face.

“We have weekend sleepovers,” she explained, walking towards George’s bed. “The boys can’t get up our stairs, so we come here. Stay; join us. Alicia and Lee will be up in a bit. He’s doing a run to the kitchens for snacks and she’s just getting changed. I would have brought your PJs, but Lavender and Parvati think you’re hiding in your bed. Less gossip if you just transfigure what you’re wearing.”

Hermione looked at Fred. Would he expect more from her if she stayed?

“Kissing and snuggling only,” he whispered in her ear, as if he had read her mind. “It’s the sleepover rule. If anyone wants to do more, they have to go somewhere more private and spare everyone else’s blushes. Please stay. I’d love to hold you in my arms all night.” Hermione’s tummy skipped at his words.

“How do we get back in the morning?” she asked.

“Worried they’ll judge us?” Angelina asked. She had already crawled into George’s bed and was arranging his pillows to her satisfaction.

“A bit.” Fred and George exchanged a glance. Hermione had sat up and temporarily moved away from Fred. He was delighted to see that she was transfiguring her robes into pyjamas, even as she processed her decision with her new friend. Fred made a mental note to buy Angelina a large bar of chocolate from Honeydukes in the morning, as a thank you gift.

“Well, worry not. They can’t judge us if we’re disillusioned.” Angelina smiled, further endearing herself to her boyfriend’s twin. “And your room mates tend to sleep in late at the weekend anyway. Transfigure your clothes, and they’ll just think you got up early. You’ll be fine,” she promised. “Live a little.” Angelina winked, and Hermione smiled at that.

“I suppose I had better learn to do that, now,” she said, smiling at Fred as she magically cleaned her teeth and then reached to put her wand on his bedside. Her arm was too short, so he took her wand gently from her fingers and placed it beside his own, where they rolled together; a sight that made her unexpectedly happy. “What adventures are we having tomorrow, then?” she asked him, as she climbed under the covers and watched him transfigure his own clothes into pyjamas before joining her and wrapping her in his arms again. “Other than getting me some potions ingredients, which I need for Monday. Otherwise Snape might turn me into a frog, and you may not be so keen on kissing me then.”

Fred smiled. “Butterbeer first,” he said. “With some big displays of affection so everyone can see that I finally won your heart. Then Zonkos, Honeydukes, and wherever you need to go, of course, and THEN,” he looked at George, who was also grinning, “revenge on Malfoy. I was thinking maybe a thousand tiny kicks on the bum this time? As he walks back to the school. Or maybe as he walks into supper?”

“Or a thousand flea bites?” offered George.

“A thousand doses of itching powder diving into his robes and then exploding against his skin?” Hermione suggested, before snuggling down into Fred’s arms and nestling her head on his shoulder. 

“Ooooh, good one,” he said, his fingers still stroking her hair. “I just knew we’d be a good team.”

Yes, thought Hermione, as the others arrived and all six friends settled in for an evening of chatting, cuddling and butterbeer. We will.


End file.
